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She snorted.

“—and play some bar games.”

“Bar games.” She tasted the words. “I can do that.”

I moved to pull her out of the truck by her waist.

Her small hands slid up my chest, wrapping around my neck. The feel of her in my arms drove me wild with desire.

“But you’re wrong about one thing,” she said, dropping a swift kiss on my lips.

I had to physically restrain myself from taking her mouth hard. That would only lead to more. And right now, that wasn’t what she needed.

“What?” I set her on the wet gravel.

“You’re notaman.” She threaded her fingers through mine. “You’re mine.”

Feeling like a damn king, I walked next to her inside.

***

“Yeah, we can safely say I’m terrible at pool,” Isabella laughed as the cue ball jumped off the table and rolled across the sticky, vinyl floor.

I chased after it again.

When I brought it back, I jerked my head to the other side of the room. “Let’s try darts then.”

Rolling her shoulder, Isabella considered the board. “Darts I’ve played.”

I set up the game, handing her three darts with red flights while keeping the blue ones for myself. “Ladies first.”

With a smirk, Isabella positioned herself at the throw line, squinting slightly at the board. Her stance shifted—shoulders squared, one foot slightly forward—and suddenly she looked like a different person. Gone was the playful awkwardness from the pool table.

The first dart flew from her fingers with deadly precision, landing squarely in the triple 20. The second followed just as accurately, nestling right beside the first. Her third throw hit the bullseye with a satisfying thunk.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered, staring at her perfect score. “Youhaveplayed before.”

She shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Maybe a little.”

I stepped up to take my turn, suddenly feeling the pressure. My first throw landed in the single 20. Not bad, but not great. I could feel Isabella's gaze on me, expectant and amused.

I rolled my shoulders, adjusted my grip. The second dart hit the triple 20, and I heard her soft intake of breath behind me. My third throw landed in the inner bullseye, just shy of her perfect center.

“Well, well,” Isabella said, collecting her darts. “Looks like we’re evenly matched.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” I grabbed my darts, letting my fingers brush against hers.

Three rounds later, we were tied. The few patrons in the bar had started to watch our game, impressed by the display. Isabella’s form was elegant, controlled—clearly, she’d had formal training. Mine was more instinctual but just as effective.

It was a little like knife throwing, though the darts were flimsy and not well weighted.

“Where’d you learn to throw like that?” I asked as she lined up her next shot.

She took it, scoring well. She rubbed her shoulder, frowning at something.

“My father had one in the basement for when he had…friends over.”

Since I knew that her family was in the illegal alcohol business, which wasn’t as profitable as it was a hundred years ago, I guessed what kind of company he kept.